Camp Ben Spooner (7th in the Vicksburg series)
by PollyVictorian
Summary: Scott learns to cook beans.


Scott and Tice took survey of the stack of rations they had brought from the quartermaster's.  
>"There seem to be a lot of beans here," Scott observed. "Do you know how to cook them?"<br>"My ma boils them, I think," replied Tice. "They can't be hard to cook, anyway, or they wouldn't have given us so much of them."  
>"I suppose so." Scott hoped Tice's logic would hold true.<br>"We'll try them for supper," said Tice.

After drill Scott headed across to the other side of the camp. Their role as company cooks left him and Tice plenty of free time. They had no assigned duties apart from preparing the meals and boiling some beans wouldn't take long.  
>Scott came in sight of the hospital tents. He was hoping he'd be able to find one of the orderlies and ask after Sergeant Latham. Scott liked his company's orderly sergeant and couldn't help worrying when he remembered the burning fever the NCO had been running when Scott helped him into camp.<p>

A woman came out of the main hospital tent. Scott recognized her from that brief meeting at the railway depot. He stepped up to her and touched his cap.  
>"Mrs Balfour?"<br>"Yes, young man, what can I do for you?" Her words were formal but her gentle smile made Scott feel at ease.  
>"I'm Private Lancer, Company L. I was wondering how Sergeant Latham is." Mrs Balfour's kindly face grew serious.<br>"Dr Vincent has seen him again. It's typhus, I'm afraid, but the sergeant is a strong young man. He has a good chance."  
>"Please let him know the men are thinking of him."<br>"I will, when he wakes up," Mrs Balfour promised.  
>"Thank you, ma'am." Scott touched his cap again and left. Despite Mrs Balfour's reassuring tone, her words had left him uneasy. "…a good chance." "…when he wakes up." When, or if? Scott snapped his thoughts back into order. Mrs Balfour was right: Sergeant Latham was a strong young man. He did have a good chance – more than a good chance. And the idea of a soldier dying of sickness before he'd even seen one battle was unthinkable.<p>

When Scott got back to Company L's street of tents, Tice had a fire going under the company kettle and was tipping a load of beans into the boiling water.  
>"I've put in plenty of salt and pepper to give them flavor," he said, stirring diligently.<br>"You're getting quite enthusiastic about this cooking, aren't you," Scott teased his friend.  
>"Maybe I've found my vocation," Tice came back serenely. "Instead of going back to college after the war, I might have a promising career at Delmonico's."<br>Scott pretended to frown.  
>"Only trouble is, I don't recall seeing beans on the menu at Delmonico's," he said.<br>"Once they try mine, they'll add 'em on." Tice assured him.

"I've never eaten beans this hard before," said Cal, as he spooned up what was supposed to be supper from his plate.  
>"They should be alright," Tice said in an injured voice. "We boiled them for half an hour."<br>"I'm no expert on cooking," offered Dan, as he crunched at his ration, "but I'm sure Sarah cooks beans for longer than that."  
>"The salt and pepper are just right, anyhow," Scott said. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Tice's feelings, but he also was having doubts as he swallowed the rock-hard beans.<br>"It makes a change from sowbelly, anyway," said Rick, chewing away stolidly. "And we've got plenty of hardtack to go with it."  
>"The hardtack is softer than the beans," said Joe.<p>

Sometime during the night Scott woke up. He tried not to disturb Tice but the racking pain in his stomach made lying still impossible. He rolled onto his side, then onto his stomach, then onto his back again.  
>"You feeling bad, too?" whispered Tice. Speaking aloud after lights out was strictly forbidden.<br>"Yes," was all Scott could manage to say but he wondered if groaning would contravene regulations.  
>It was a long night.<p>

When Sergeant Stevenson bellowed the order for sick call the next morning, Scott and Tice joined a line of men clutching their stomachs and either moaning or cursing, according to temperament. Sergeant Stevenson ticked the names off the list.  
>"Report to Mrs Balfour at the hospital tent," was his general order.<br>"Mrs Balfour? Sergeant, shouldn't we be seen by Dr Vincent? Whatever this is we've all got…" Scott was interrupted by a repeat of the order.  
>"You'll report to Mrs Balfour, Private. And Lancer, McRae,"<br>"Yes, Sergeant?"  
>"Learn your job. Bad cooking will kill more of us than any Secesh bullets will."<p>

Scott staggered along with the other men to the hospital tent, where Mrs Balfour was giving out doses of…  
>"Salts? Oh no, ma'am, I don't think…"<br>"Take the dose, Private Lancer." Mrs Balfour's voice was neither loud nor unkind, but her tone had a firmness that brooked no argument. Scott had heard that tone before – from his nanny. He had obeyed then and he obeyed now. He almost expected Mrs Balfour to call him Scotty.

"Scott, we'll have to figure out something," Tice said later when they were feeling better – or at least, less bad – and were managing to get some coffee down. "Those beans make up more than half the company rations but we won't survive another supper like last night's."  
>"Oh come on, Tice, it was only a stomach ache," replied Scott. "It wouldn't have killed us."<br>"True, but I was meaning we wouldn't survive what the other men would do to us."  
>"Ah," said Scott, "yes, you're probably right." He sat thinking for a few minutes, then tipped the dregs from his coffee cup and rose.<p>

Mrs Balfour looked up in concern as Scott came into the hospital tent once again.  
>"Are you still feeling ill, Private Lancer?"<br>"Oh no, I'm fine now, ma'am, thank you." Actually Scott still felt a long way from fine but he wasn't about to risk another dose of salts. "But there's something else I was wondering if you might help me with."  
>"I'd be happy to help any way I can, Private Lancer. What is it you need" Once again, her gentle smile made Scott feel at ease, giving him confidence to put the question he'd come to ask.<br>"Ma'am, how do you cook beans?"

"Four hours? You're kidding!" Tice shook his head in disbelief at what Scott was telling him.  
>"That's what Mrs Balfour said. Cook the beans for at least four hours. Oh, and we have to leave them to soak overnight beforehand. And rinse them twice." Scott repeated the instructions he'd been given.<br>"So much for the easy job as cooks," sighed Tice.  
>Tice's rueful comment made Scott recall Sergeant Stevenson's words about the easy job. He remembered, too, that suppressed laughter from the sergeant. He was beginning to comprehend both.<p>

Corporal Dan Cassidy understood the obligations of rank. He knew it was his duty to encourage his men by being the first to try the beans that were served up two nights later. He braced himself and put a forkful into his mouth.  
>"These are good!" He hadn't meant to sound so astonished. Luckily, Private Lancer and Private McRae took it as a compliment.<br>"The recipe needed a little adjustment, that's all," Scott explained.  
>"Plus Scott got some onions from one of the sutlers, for some extra flavor," Tice added.<br>Scott suspected the sutler had overcharged him outrageously for those onions but it was worth it to see the other soldiers passing their plates for second helpings. He looked across at Tice.  
>"You know, pardner, I think Delmonico's may add that extra menu item after all."<p>

LLLLLLLLLLLL

They'd been in camp just over a week when Sergeant Stevenson made an announcement at morning roll call.  
>"Sergeant Latham died early this morning. The funeral is at ten o'clock. Be ready in full uniform. Dismissed."<p>

The men of Company L stood at attention and presented arms as the coffin was carried to the camp burial ground, where several rows of white crosses were already standing. Reverend Crawford read a brief service and a musket volley was fired over the grave. Then the funeral was over, the men were dismissed and ordered back to their regular duties Scott felt there should be something more, but there was no ritual of mourning here in the army camp. The day went on as normal, with only the talking a little more subdued at dinner.

Scott went about his duties with the rest but through the cooking of the meals, the drills, the evening dress parade, his thoughts kept going back to those crosses in the burial ground. The 83rd had yet to see a battle but already its men were filling a graveyard.

There were more ways for a soldier to die, it seemed, than by enemy bullets.

LLLLLLLLLLLL

"I'd be fetching wood if I was at home," said Cal as he and the other soldiers on firewood detail stacked their loads beside the cook tent. "How much longer are we going to be stuck here keeping house, I wonder?"  
>"It's like Corporal Cassidy said, I guess," Scott answered. "No point in wondering, when it come to orders."<br>Cal was not the only soldier grumbling. After nearly two weeks in camp, the men of the 83rd were getting restless. They'd joined up to fight the Rebels but so far the only "skirmishing" they'd done was with the lice that infested the clothing of one and all.  
>"It makes it awkward writing home," remarked Tice. He had a letter in his hand. "Ma says she prays every night for me and Cal, and Pa says he knows I'll be firm in my duty come what may, and I've got to write and say Cal is busy getting firewood and I'm serving my country cooking beans."<p>

As the other soldiers laughed and talked about how they had the same trouble, Scott joined in with a brief smile but was silent. There had been several deliveries of mail to the camp but as yet he had had no word from his grandfather. He told himself it took time for a letter to reach Boston and a reply to get to Tennessee but he couldn't reason away the niggling fear that there might never be a reply.

It brought back the hollow feeling he'd had on the two occasions he'd written to his father. Both those times he'd waited for an answer, told himself it took time, told himself there could be reasons for the delay – and finally faced the truth that no answer would be coming. That had been bad enough but this was worse. His father was an unknown figure but his grandfather was the dearest person to him in the world. If his disobedience had cost him his grandfather's love… but there was still time for a letter to come. Surely it must come.

The soldiers' waiting was about to end. At dress parade that night the order was issued: troops were to be ready to move out at eight the next morning. Scott sensed the thrill that ran through the lines of men, himself included. Perhaps at last they would be getting to the work they had enlisted for.

The adjutant was reading out the regular orders for each company. Sergeant Stevenson was confirmed as the new orderly sergeant for Company L, as they all had been expecting. Then:  
>"Corporal Daniel Cassidy, Company L, to be third sergeant."<br>Scott was pleased. Dan deserved the promotion. He was devoted to his duty and, even as a corporal, cared about the well-being of the men under him. It would be good to have him as a sergeant. The adjutant went on with the orders.  
>"Private Scott Lancer, Company L, to be eighth corporal."<br>It took a few seconds for the words Scott had heard to sink in. Him, to be the new corporal? He was the greenest of the raw recruits, wasn't he? The city boy amongst the Westerners. It must be some mistake.

As the men were dismissed from parade, Sergeant Stevenson issued an order in his usual bark.  
>"Sergeant Cassidy, Corporal Lancer, collect your stripes from the quartermaster. And get Mrs Balfour to sew them on for you. We don't want your ham-fisted sewing efforts on the insignia of the United States Army."<br>"Yes, sir." Scott and Dan answered and saluted together.  
>Corporal Lancer – Sergeant Stevenson had said the words himself. It was no mistake.<p>

As they crawled into their shelter tent that night, Tice said to Scott,  
>"Better get a good night's sleep. You've got the hard work ahead tomorrow, Corporal."<br>"I don't know why I was the one chosen as corporal." Scott was still taking it in.  
>"It's the book learning, like Cal says," replied Tice.<br>"You've got as much education as me, Tice," Scott retorted. "You were at college as long as I was. It could just as well have been you as me."  
>"There was a good reason why you were chosen instead of me, Scott," Tice said in a serious voice.<br>"There was?" Scott was puzzled. "What was it?"  
>"I should have thought it was obvious." Tice paused a moment, then went on:<br>"L comes before M in the alphabet." He grinned as he added, "And by the way – congratulations!"

The bugle sounded for lights out and they snuffed their stub of candle. As he settled under his blanket, Scott's thoughts became serious. Tice's joking had truth behind it – the hard work would begin tomorrow.

Today he'd got a corporal's stripes. Tomorrow he'd have to start earning them.


End file.
